


Like We're Gonna Die Young

by avalanches



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Graffiti, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:58:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2437835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalanches/pseuds/avalanches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Yamato is this protected kid that has never seen the world, and when he meets Hibiki, the delinquent that paints his feelings across the whitewashed walls of the city, he feels like he’s finally living on the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like We're Gonna Die Young

**Author's Note:**

> (also known as Phy doesn’t know what she’s doing with her life anymore)
> 
> written for this asshole (Paige) here cause she drew me England (yayy!!) and also because I miss her and can’t wait to see her. 
> 
> now that my major exams are over, I have finally gotten around to posting this up around here cause Cheryl has been bugging me non-stop

_“Let’s make the most of the night like we’re gonna die young.” ~Die Young – Ke$ha_

_\---_

The first time they meet, Yamato catches him spraying a streak of blue across the dark grey wall that graces the alley beside the place he is going to have his violin recital at. 

He is immediately captivated by the colour that stands out against the boring grey of the wall, the fluid motion of the boy’s arm that flings the can almost effortlessly to create the start of what Yamato would later learn to be a masterpiece and most of all, by the boy himself. He has never seen hair that dark, despite having grown up with people like Fuumi and Makoto who have what was supposed to be “jet-black hair”, a symbol of those privileged enough to serve nobles like the Hotsuin. He’s entranced by the lean body that is clad in a white hoodie with blue lines running along the border and tight blue pants. For someone who is vandalising the walls of the city with spray paint and is supposed to be running away from the police, the boy is dressed in surprisingly bright colours, unlike Yamato himself who is wearing a pressed grey shirt with slacks, his own silver hair shockingly bright compared to the dark locks of the boy before him.

When he turns around to lock eyes with Yamato, he knows that he’s drawn to this boy immediately.

The bright blue eyes light up with amusement as the boy caps the spray can quickly, stuffing it into a dirty canvas bag at his feet before turning around fully to face Yamato, a smile turning the corners of his lips up. He scrutinises Yamato closely, no doubt drinking in his starched collar, his immaculate tie and the expensive shoes that he had just bought three days ago for this stupid recital. Meanwhile, he takes his time to rake his eyes over the surprisingly clean white jacket that hugs the boy’s lean frame, the wavy black hair that curves around his sharp face and the black sneakers that are decorated with splatters and streaks of fluorescent paint.

“Well, you’re not yelling for the cops,” the raven before him states with a laugh, hoisting the canvas bag containing his paints onto his shoulder, electric blue eyes leaving Yamato for a moment to quickly sweep the streets outside and the alley behind him before snapping back onto his face, holding his gaze with a confidence that he hadn’t expected from him. His mouth twists in an attempt at retorting before he simply shrugs, readjusting his grip on his violin case.

“I want to see what you want to do with that wall,” he states carefully, holding the stare and trying to ignore the fact that this delinquent seemed to be far more confident than the ones that he had seen around. He is met with a delighted laugh that sounds like the ringing of church bells on a Sunday morning and the smile on the raven’s face stretches impossibly wider.

“You’re having your recital here right?” the delinquent jerks his chin at the tall majestic building that has the concert hall which Yamato will be performing at in about two weeks’ time. “I’ll be here almost every day if I can, about this time, you can watch this baby grow,” he places his hand right beside the blue streak that he had just made, his eyes softening as he traces the outline of the streak with his eyes before turning his head to stare at Yamato, a challenge present in his eyes.

“Or am I too much of an uneducated and common person for you, a Hotsuin to watch?”

Yamato doesn’t question how he knows his surname; the Hotsuins are well known for being the nobles that govern this area. He has been appearing in newspapers from the moment he was born, and he somehow knows that this delinquent isn’t as simple as the others that do nothing but run about in the streets and fight. He meets the stare straight on, steel matching steel and he is pleased to see a spark of surprise in the raven’s eyes.

“I’ll be here, for two weeks. Is it enough time for you to finish this ‘baby’ of yours?”

The raven is silent for a while, his gaze turning pensive and calculative as he holds Yamato’s gaze, his lips straightening into a line before returning to the previous smirk.

“Of course I can finish it in two weeks. Not like I’m going to die in that time. By the way, my name’s Kuze Hibiki.”

He doesn’t make a move to offer to shake hands with Yamato. Instead he stays where he is, one hand on the strap of the canvas bag, the other on the wall. In the background, Yamato can hear the familiar hum of his family car as it turns into the street to come pick him up. He nods stiffly as Hibiki steps out into the sun, pulling out a blue phone as he shields his eyes from the sun with the other free hand.

“Mine’s Yamato.”

All he gets is a two-fingered salute as Hibiki flips up his hoodie to cover the back of his head and runs back down the alley, quickly vanishing into the shadows of the buildings.

He thinks that the two long tails attached to the hood of Hibiki’s jacket look like bunny ears.

—-

The second time they meet, Hibiki isn’t doing anything to the wall, neither is his canvas bag with him. However, the wall has more colours to it; some powdered white and a lighter shade of blue that matches Hibiki’s eyes. Instead, he is leaning against the wall, his arms folded as he watches Yamato step out of the building and walk towards him. There is a small box beside his feet and he’s wearing a grey pair of sneakers that are clean and unstained with paint. One corner of his lips quirk up as Yamato strides towards him, his violin case at his side.

“Oh? I never thought you would actually acknowledge me,” there is a mocking undertone in the delinquent’s voice as he stands up straight and Yamato approaches him. Yamato’s lips press tightly together before he meets the amused gaze directed at him, his grip on his case tightening.

“Do you think that lowly of me, Kuze?”

“Nah, it’s just that you Hotsuins are so high and mighty. ‘Ew, I don’t want to interact with commoners!’ is that what you all think?” retorts Hibiki as he scoops up the small box beside him and tucks it under his arm. “Besides, when is your ride coming? If not we’ll go somewhere, there’s something I want to show you.”

Yamato hesitates. He knows that he could just text his chauffeur and the car would come later, but he knows that he would be lying about the rehearsal being extended. However, the promise present in Hibiki’s bright blue eyes and the excitement about actually doing something that his father would definitely disapprove of won him over and he pulls out his phone. However, before he can flip it open and type a message, Hibiki has whisked his phone away and is composing a message at the speed of light. Before he can even open his mouth to protest, the slim phone is shoved back into his hand and Hibiki is already walking down the alley, waving at him to come along.

“How did you—-“

“Just come, Yamato. You’re not going to die because you lied once.”

Deciding it’s better to keep his mouth shut, Yamato shoves his phone back into his pocket and follows the two long dangly pieces of fabric that trail behind Hibiki, ignoring the flutter in his chest that was caused from the excitement of seeing something that he never thought he would be able to see in his entire life.

He thinks he’s falling too fast for this boy.

—-

“Wow.”

Hibiki leads him into a small studio that is tucked at the corner of the second floor of a shabby building that is just on the left of the alley, throwing open a heavy metal door at the top of a flight of rickety metal steps. Inside the studio, the walls are painted with a myriad of paintings; angels, demons, spirals, squares, faces, hands, weapons, fire, water; the list is endless. Yamato doesn’t know where it starts and where it ends, but he doesn’t need to know. Easels are cluttered across the clean teak floors, each one with a canvas and something different painted on it. He catches glimpses of a Lady GaGa headshot, a wedding version of Hello Kitty, an intricately designed kite (called a  _wau_ , he recalls vaguely from memory) and a detailed painting of an army Swiss knife. He is amazed at the amount of colour and the variety of design in the room, having rooted him to the spot as his breath catches in his throat while he attempts to take in everything, but not knowing where to look first.

“Don’t look so dumbfounded dummy, never seen paintings before?”

Hibiki’s voice brings him back to reality and his mouth snaps shut as he focuses his gaze on the raven who is dragging a smaller easel in his direction. A cheeky smile is thrown in his direction before Hibiki turns the easel around to face him, the canvas being covered by a piece of cloth that is streaked with so many different colours that Yamato doubts that anyone can count them. He steps to Yamato’s side watching his face intently.

“Take the cloth off.”

His voice comes as a whisper in Yamato’s ear, his breath ghosting across the silvernette’s neck and it makes the composed teen lose his cool yet again. Jerking his head away from Hibiki, he reaches out a shaky hand and pulls the cloth off.

What is present on the canvas makes his jaw drop again, the third time in that day, and this time he doesn’t bother to recover, instead choosing to stumble back and let Hibiki hold him by the arms. He registers the raven’s warmth seeping into his back, and the gentle hands gripping his arms while his own hands move up to cover his mouth.

It’s a portrait of him from the neck upwards, every detail of him painted on the canvas, even the small scar that is barely hidden by his fringe, his eyes closed as his chin is tilted up to the side, his hair flying  behind him as though a wind is blowing it back. He is amazed that it is painted so carefully, almost like he is watching himself. Blinking rapidly, he is rendered speechless as he stares at the strokes and colours on the canvas, drinking in every single detail of the painting.

“Do you like it?”

He doesn’t know how to respond to Hibiki’s question. However, when warm fingers slide up his arms to take hold of his jaw gently and tilt his head to meet gentle blue eyes, he doesn’t resist their touch, nor does he feel the need to look away.

He kisses Hibiki back when the raven’s gentle lips find his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was alright to fall fast, and this felt right.

—-

He doesn’t remember how many times he has lied to parents and his chauffeur. He still practices his violin, knowing that after the recital ends he might not be able to see Hibiki anymore. However, after rehearsals, he sends the same text to his chauffeur, and sneaks into the alley to meet Hibiki.

They explore the network of alleys behind the building, and Hibiki brings Yamato to see his previous masterpieces, letting Yamato hold him while he tells the story behind each other his works. The broken mirror painted on the corner two turns down from the studio was the first time Hibiki decided to run away from home and pursue his passion for art, a representation of him shattering the image of himself that his parents built of him.

The brilliant sunset that spans the entire width of the building that is four blocks down from the rehearsal building was how Hibiki felt when he finally entered art school here in Tokyo on a scholarship, also the time where he managed to get the studio that he lives at now, and he felt that his life has never been better. It was like the sun was smiling on me that day, he tells Yamato as he draws patterns idly on Yamato’s arms that are locked around his waist, his nose buried in raven locks. The shattered wineglass painted almost haphazardly beneath the window on the building directly behind the studio was the last time Hibiki cut himself, his wrist bleeding as he streaked white and red across the spotless blue wall. It was when one of Hibiki’s closest friends had died because of cancer, and he was unable to continue being the musician that he wanted to be.

“His death taught me how to love life,” he commented in a whisper as Yamato’s fingers rub his wrists, tracing old scars that are merely bumps on skin. Yamato asks about the yellow that the red eventually blends into, curious because wine is usually red.

“It was what I remembered of him,” murmured Hibiki, leaning into Yamato’s arms, his eyes faraway and nostalgic. “He always wore this bright yellow scarf.”

“He made me realise that I wasn’t going to die young, and I needed to know that.”

—-

Other times, they didn’t go exploring. Yamato would sit on the box that Hibiki kept his paints in, watching in awe as the raven shook cans and flung colours across the drab grey wall, his electric blue eyes focused. Hibiki never faltered when it came to painting, never gave anything a second thought, and never regretted anything. It was something Yamato found hard doing, being taught to never take any risks.

Hibiki found that rather funny.

“It’s not fun sometimes unless you follow your feelings,” he laughs as he strokes Yamato’s hand, watching the silvernette’s face contort in anxiety and uncertainty. Yanking him up, he drags him over to where his dirty canvas bag is, pulling it open and showing Yamato all the colours inside.

“Go on, pick any colour you like,” he challenges him. “Pick one, and spray it however you like across the wall.”

Yamato remembers being horrified, protesting that he might ruin Hibiki’s masterpiece. However, the raven just laughs and forces his hand into the bag, reassuring him that it would be fine.

“I can create a masterpiece out of anything,” he smiles, “that’s the beauty of art.”

Again he adds, “You’re not going to die just because of one wrong move y’know.”

Yamato takes up a black can and sprays it in one long streak across the grey wall, watching in wonder as the colour blossoms across the wall and stops just before this white sharp edge that Hibiki had just finished before he had stopped. Hibiki laughs behind him, the sound music to his ears, and suddenly they hear shouts coming from the street outside.

Hibiki grabs the can from him and shoves it into the canvas bag, and the next thing he knows, he’s sprinting down the alley with Hibiki holding his hand and he’s laughing at the top of his voice, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as Hibiki yanks him up the stairs to his studio, having never stopped laughing. As the door clangs shut behind them, he stares up into the raven’s laughing face, flushed from the run and thinks that his face must mirror his. His neat hair is falling out of his ponytail, but he hardly cares when he reaches up to wrap his arms around Hibiki and laugh against his lips.

It was that time that Yamato realises that he feels really happy, and it has nothing to do with achievements.

“Not dead?” Hibiki teases when they separate for air and the need to breathe.

“Not dead,” he answers breathlessly as Hibiki laughs again.

—-

After his recital, Hibiki pulls him out of the concert hall and into the alley and once again, Yamato is rendered speechless as the raven reveals his completed masterpiece. It is of a white tiger and a black lion muzzle to muzzle, teeth bared as electric sparks sizzle out from them; blue that matches Hibiki’s eyes for the tiger, and red that matches the tie that Yamato wore for his recital.

Yamato thinks that it’s one of the most beautiful things that he has seen in his entire life.

He opens his mouth to ask Hibiki about the red, but instead is yet again silenced by the look on the raven’s face. Hibiki is looking at him like he is the most precious thing in the world to him, his gaze so tender that Yamato’s chest hurts and he doesn’t know how to react. He is folded into warm familiar arms, and lips are pressed against his briefly, before three words are mouthed against them.

_I love you._

Hibiki has been teaching him to live his life according to his gut feeling these two weeks, and not plan every step out, but instead go with what seems right to him. It was how the artist got this far after all. Yamato decides to do just that now, and he pulls Hibiki into a searing kiss, hands grappling at the black locks as Hibiki’s arms wrap tightly around his waist.

As they stumble up the stairs and into the small bedroom tucked at the back of the studio, Yamato doesn’t think about anything except for the other in his arms. As he is dropped down on the small lone bed, he knows that he is the happiest person on earth when Hibiki stares at him for the longest time before kissing him again.

Screw the concert; screw the rest, he only wants to be in the arms of the man he loves tonight.

Yamato doesn’t return home that night, and he panics when he wakes up in the morning. However, seeing Hibiki’s sleeping face beside his on the pillow dashes all that guilt, and when the raven wakes up and kisses him good morning, he knows it was worth it.

He knows he loves the other; and dear god, Hibiki loves him too. 

—-

The silvernette chews on his gum as he picks up his file and nods at the conductor on the way out of the room. He says goodbye to his fellow orchestra members and waves a few of them off before turning into the alley and walking down the familiar route to the apartment he now lives in.

He passes by the familiar painting of the tiger and the lion snarling at each other and he runs his fingers nostalgically over a darker streak of paint on the lion’s coat, a fond smile turning up the corners of his lips as he remembers. It was the first time he decided to live on his own, and live on the edge, and he had never turned back since.

He had chosen to be disowned by his family, leaving everything to his twin sister instead. He had given it all up, the comfortable life, the expensive clothes, the personal chauffeur, the huge library, the education for him to become the next governor of Kyushu. All for one man, for that one person that had changed his life, and made him truly happy.

Since leaving the Hotsuin family, Yamato had found himself a place at a music school nearby, playing in an orchestra as part of his course and also to contribute to the everyday expenses. They had saved up enough to buy a new apartment a year ago, and Hibiki had moved his easels there. It isn’t that far from the art school, or the music school or from the concert hall that they had met the first time. It is also the concert hall that Yamato’s orchestra practices at.

He slides the key into the keyhole and is in the middle of turning it when the door is flung wide open and he is pulled into a deep kiss. He feels his lover laugh against his lips, and he pulls away to be met with Hibiki’s smiling face as the raven plants a kiss on his cheek before moving away. The easel with a stool in front of it is half completed, the side of Yamato’s face finished while the other side has a few black strokes and the sketch of another face lightly showing up on the canvas. Hibiki picks up his brush and palette and continues adding strokes, still as confident as the day that he had been caught spraying paint across the wall.

Yamato drops his violin case and music file on a nearby table before pulling a stool to join his lover as he watches the rest of the painting come to life. Hibiki no longer painted graffiti across the walls of buildings, but he still paints, because it’s what he loves, and what Yamato loves seeing him doing. Both of them are graduating soon, and they are planning to move to Tokyo, where Hibiki can have his art own exhibition, and Yamato can perform with an international orchestra. Many things are unsure, and many details need to be ironed out, but Yamato is sure that they will be happy with each other no matter what.

When Hibiki finally looks up from his painting, Yamato pulls him into a hug and another kiss, smiling when the raven pulls himself into his lap, wrapping his arms around Yamato tightly.

Hibiki laughs when they break apart, but he refuses to move from Yamato’s embrace, tucking his head into the crook of Yamato’s neck.

“We’re moving forward, Hibiki,” he murmurs into his lover’s hair.

“Of course,” answers the raven, “we need to live every single day like we’re going to die young, aren’t we?”

“Except we won’t,” he hears Hibiki laugh again and it soothes him, the slight shaking of Hibiki’s torso against his as his lover chuckles and presses another kiss against his neck.

“Let’s make the most of it then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, the song definitely did inspire this fic, but it was hard fitting in the lyrics because Kesha and her lyrics WOW hahah. This fic is partly inspired by my own decisions in life, where I decided to go with my feelings and say “screw it all” and I made a life changing decision and I am making the most of it right now. It’s tough, but no one ever did say that it was going to be easy.
> 
> YAY FOR YAMAHIBI! The DeSu2 tag needs moare love <3 I was deciding on what sort of fic to write and somehow the summary came up, and I was like hey sounds cool. It’s ironic because I can neither paint nor play the violin; but well, I liked the idea. Also, I am not promoting vandalism, it’s just an idea. The idea of Yamato and Hibiki living together also makes me a very happy fangirl ^^ Hibiki laughs a lot in this, but I like the idea of happy Hibiki. It’s really infectious ok, and I believe it applies to Yamato too.


End file.
